


The Art Of Giving In

by Awakened_Angel



Series: Staccato Heartbeat [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Emotional Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awakened_Angel/pseuds/Awakened_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SEQUEL TO STACCATO HEARTBEAT. It's hard not to go into a rant when someone asks what's so great about him. It's hard not to talk about how his hair looks like sunshine and his laugh makes you feel whole, complete. It's hard not to talk for hours without hesitation. Because when a boy loves you as much as this, it's hard not to love him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Of Giving In

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO AND WELCOME BACK TO THE EMOTIONAL RIDE THAT IS STACCATO HEARTBEAT! You guys asked, and I decided what the hell, I'm so attached to this piece I can't just _end it_. So here's the sequel, and probably the final part. I thought about doing another fic set in this universe, but it's still in the thinking process, and if it does happen (and that's a huge HUGE if), it won't be seeing the light of the public internet for a long time. Anyway, I hope you guys like this as much as you liked Staccato Heartbeat. You can check me out on tumblr at emmaawaatson for other stories I have in progress :)

**Saturday, July 4, 2015**

On the day that fireworks light up the sky and make loud popping noises like muffled gunshots, Ian and Mickey go on their first date.

On the day that red, white, and blue are everyone's favorite colors and drunks continuously chant "USA! USA! USA!" as they charge down the street, Ian and Mickey go on their first date.

It's not a very private date, to be honest. It's actually pretty fucking crowded, because Mandy insisted on coming along (Because  _hell no_ , she was not going to sit at home by herself and wait for her brother finish his cute little date with his cute little boyfriend when she had traveled all the way from New York for the weekend.)

And then there's the fact that Fiona's invited herself along for some reason.

Lip seems eager to meet the mysterious Mickey Milkovich, so he tags along as well.

And by the time they get to the old and abandoned park, Mickey wants to punch Ian in his stupid face for telling his family, and his  _own fucking sister_ , about tonight.

But he would rather not ruin Ian's face. He's rather fond of that face.

"So," Fiona says, and Mickey already knows she's going to start shit because he  _knows_  what that fucking high-pitched, fake curious tone means. It means fucking trouble. "You're Mickey?"

"Yes." It had been established when Ian had introduced them to each other ten minutes ago.

"And you guys have finally started dating?" Lip asked, eyeing Mickey distastefully.

Mickey rolled his eyes, exasperation already taking hold. "Yes," he sighed heavily.

Mandy, God bless her, took pity on Mickey and saved him from the Gallaghers. "Sorry, I forgot your name like the second you told me. Remind me again?"

Her bluntness might get her killed again, but right now, Mickey felt nothing but gratitude.

As Mandy occupied the two Gallagher siblings, Mickey made his way to Ian.

"I didn't know you planned on inviting your whole family. Should I be expecting the rest of the herd sometime soon?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. Fiona's protective over me, that's all."

"And the other one? Mouth or whatever the fuck?"

"Lip," Ian corrected even though he knew Mickey purposely said the wrong name to get on Ian's nerves. "He's just an asshole."

"You don't say," Mickey muttered under his breath.

Ian snorted a little, looking at Mickey fondly until he looked up to find the other boy staring at him intently. "What the fuck are you looking at, Gallagher?" he snapped, but Ian knew by now that whenever Mickey said things to him in a sharp tone or stared swearing at him profusely, he hardly ever meant it. Anymore, at least.

"Nothing," Ian said, but the smile was still on his face and Mickey knew damn well what was on his mind.

He rolled his eyes but there was a very bright sparkle in them. "Shut the fuck up."

**Wednesday, July 8, 2015**

There's a very big difference between the Gallagher family and the Milkovich family. The Gallaghers, for example, were actually a very close-knit family and they got along with each and every member.

The Milkovich family, though. . .well, they were a completely different story. They  _tolerated_  each other at best. Mickey only felt close to Mandy and while his brothers knew he was gay, they hadn't always been so accepting.

So when Ian told Mickey the story of him coming out, Mickey was very uncomfortable and felt extremely out of place.

"The fuck do you mean she just said ' _I know_ '? How the fuck does that even work?"

Ian shrugged, letting out a little laugh. "I don't know. I just said I'm gay and she said 'I know'. And then it was over. She told me to take a shower."

"What the fuck, man?"

Ian leaned back on the bed so his back was against the pillows and turned his head so he was facing Mickey, who was currently in the process of refusing to look at Ian.

"Mick," he whispered.

Mickey turned a little. "What?"

"You know I love you, right?"

"Jesus," Mickey sighs, sitting up and grabbing his cigarettes. "Yes, I know. You tell me all the time." Sometimes Mickey forgot they weren't just fucking anymore. Sometimes he forgot that he said it first.

"I'm sorry your family doesn't like that you're gay."

Mickey shrugged. "Still not, according to my dad."

"That. . .what happened. . .it wasn't your fault."

"I was stupid enough to get caught."

Ian kisses Mickey deep and long, until the only words Mickey's able to say is Ian's name, and he can't pitch his voice lower than a scream.

**Saturday, July 18, 2015**

Ian told Mickey he was going to fuck him every single night for the rest of the month.

Mickey just looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, and it was such a cute expression that Ian just wanted to lean over and kiss him softly. Not like they were going to fuck, not like they were kissing goodbye or hello. . .he just wanted to kiss him for no reason. "I'm just. . ." Mickey trailed off, searching for the right words. "How is that any different from what we normally do?"

"I just thought you'd like to know," Ian said. "Because, y'know, I know your ass is delicate and I wanted to give you some time to prepare beforehand." He leaned over and kissed Mickey firmly on the lips, leaving Mickey shocked and feeling more than slightly aroused. "So come upstairs soon, because I'm going to be waiting for you."

Mickey was left on the couch sitting by himself, thinking over Ian's words. They fucked every night for the first three months they knew each other. They continued doing that after he'd gotten back from working for his father while he was still stuck in jail. So why did Ian feel the need to  _tell him_  he was going to be having sex every night for the rest of the night?

The answer came to Mickey as fast as the question did: Mickey meant something to Ian. They meant something to each other, and they were free to just crawl into bed with each other and not fuck, just go to sleep. Before, Mickey couldn't just come over to see Ian without the intention of getting pounded. Now that they had the option, Ian wanted to make his future actions clear.

It was kind of sweet.

Mickey decided he liked being in a relationship with Ian Gallagher.

**Monday, July 20, 2015**

"Do you think red is my color?" Mandy asked as she stood in front of her mirror.

Mickey shrugged carelessly, not even bothering to look up from his phone as he sprawled himself across Mandy's bed. "Don't really give a fuck," he mumbled to his sister.

"Let go of your phone and fucking pay attention to me, asshole," Mandy said, throwing the red lipstick at his forehead.

"I am paying attention to you, Mandy."

"You finally came to visit me and you're going to ignore me the entire time in favor of dick pics, courtesy of Ian Gallagher?" Mandy continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Fuck off, Mandy. The red is fucking beautiful, just like you."

"Shut the fuck up with your bullshit, Mickey," Mandy snorted, rolling her eyes at him.

Mickey didn't bother answering her, and only looked up when he felt the bed dip beside him.

"Do you miss him?" she asked softly, almost shyly.

Mickey almost flipped her off, but then he paused. "Yeah," he said truthfully. "I miss him."

Mandy smiled. "Must be nice," she said. "Having someone that loves you as much as Ian does. I'd like to have that some day, you know? I'd like to be able to have that with someone one day." She got this far-off look in her eye and it made Mickey ache for her because she deserved that, she deserved someone to love her like Ian loved him. She deserved it a hell of a lot than he did, and he somehow ended up with all the luck.

Mickey wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side. "Mandy," he said in that older-brother voice of his that pissed her off like nothing else did. "One day, you're gonna meet one fucker who thinks he can pull all types of shit with you. And you, little sister, will probably let him because you, being the girl you are, will fall in love with him the first moment you see him. And I, being the big brother I am, will threaten to beat the shit out of him even though I know you're a smart girl and won't let this fucker carry on for much longer. So I'll threaten him and make him scared but I'll sit back and wait for the day you tell him enough is enough. And do you know how you'll know this fucker is worth it?" He didn't even wait for her to answer. "When he apologizes."

Mandy looked up at him, picking at her nails absentmindedly. "When did you learn all that shit?" she asked.

Mickey laughed once, a hollow and bitter sound, as he pushed Mandy back and sat up so his back was against the headboard. "When it was me and Ian. Because I was that fucker. And Ian didn't tell me enough is enough. I figured it out myself."

"That's very romantic."

"Yeah, we're a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel."

"I didn't even know you knew who that was."

"I've seen your books."

"One day, I'll get you to read The Notebook."

"And I'll throw it in your face."

"But you'll cave."

"And I'll hide my secret love for the book."

"But I'll know anyway, and I'll tell Ian so he can use it as blackmail."

Mickey paused for a second. "Ian wouldn't do anything to blackmail me. Or anyone. He's too goddamned pure."

"You don't think you deserve him."

"I  _know_  I don't deserve him."

"Why?"

"Did you see the way his family looked at me?"

"Screw those bitches."

"Those  _bitches_  are Ian's family," Mickey said, rubbing his fingers across the tattoos printed across his knuckles. "Those bitches are the most important people in his life—No, Mandy, don't give me that look and tell me shit about how  _I'm_  the most important person in Ian's life, because it's his family. It's always his family, okay? He loves them, more than he'll ever love me. They had to fight to survive, literally, and they did it together. They worked together to get through it. We never did that. We were looking out for ourselves our whole lives. We never gave a shit about anyone else other than ourselves.

Mandy looked down at the bed sheets. "Well, we're not the same people now, are we?"

Mickey shook his head. "Nah, we're pretty fucking different, aren't we? Look at you, living in New York on your own and out of Dad's hands." Mandy's face flushed with pride at that.

"He ever talk about me?"

"Who?"

"Dad."

"Nah."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think he got sick of asking me and me never giving him any information."

"You'd think he wouldn't want anything to do with you, either."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're gay."

"He doesn't have to know that."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"Fuck no."

"Why not?"

"Do you want me to die?"

"Ian's gonna get sick of it.

"Ian won't get it. His family didn't give a shit he was gay."

"I'm sure they did."

"Well, the older brother tried to get him a blow job from the chick he was fucking to 'make sure he was gay'."

"God, that's fucked up."

"Yeah. Not too crazy about Mouth."

"I think his name is Lip."

"I'm still pretty sure I don't give a fuck what his name is."

"You have to lighten the fuck up about his family."

"Why should I?"

Mandy sighed. "You said it yourself. He loves them more than anything." She stood up and went back to her closet, yanking a blue sweater off its hanger and pulling it over her black tank top. "Ask yourself this. If one of them tried to get Ian to stop seeing you. . .who do you think he would listen to?" She quirked her eyebrows at him and told him to think about it before walking out of the room.

**Saturday, August 1, 2015**

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"Your phone keeps on breaking up."

"Complain about it to Mandy. She refuses to get a new phone."

"Why?"

"Says she barely uses it since she has her own cell phone."

"That's bullshit. She needs a phone for the house."

"Like I said, complain about it to her."

"She'd rip my head off."

"Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll be home soon. I love you."

**Tuesday, August 4, 2015**

The night Mickey arrives back home, he's exhausted. He's suffering from serious jetlag even though the flight wasn't even that long, but this was only the second time Mickey had flown on a plane (The first time was going to New York, and he had slept the entire day when he got to Mandy's apartment) so he deserved some slack.

He doesn't go home, though.

He goes to Ian's apartment.

He knows where the spare key and even though that should scare the fuck out of him that Ian let him know it, he accepted the hiding spot graciously.

He's so happy Ian trusts him enough to let him know the spot, because  _fuck_ , he's missed Ian so fucking much.

Mickey shoves the door open and walks straight to Ian's bedroom, taking off his t-shirt and jeans because fuck, they're gross from the plane, and climbs into bed.

. . .

Mickey wakes up to Ian yelling in his ear.

"—Didn't even fucking tell me you were coming home and I have to wake up to someone fucking curled around me like a fucking plant or octopus or something and—Oh! You've finally decided to wake up. Fucking perfect!"

Mickey rubs his eyes and sits up. "The fuck are you yelling about, Gallagher?"

"You didn't tell me you were coming home."

"I'm pretty sure I did."

"'I'm coming home soon, Ian'. That's not fucking telling me when you're coming home."

"It counts."

"I didn't have time to fucking prepare!"

"Prepare?"

"I had plans! Important plans that involved preparation and deep thinking and a hell of a lot of romanticism and cheesiness. It was going to be  _wonderful_."

Mickey's heart warms at the statement. "I'll make you a deal," he says. "I'll leave and you won't see me at all today but I'll call you at a random time and tell you I'll be home later tomorrow night, so you have all day tomorrow to prepare this fucking romantic date or whatever it was you wanted."

Ian scoffs and grabs Mickey by the waist, jumping back on the bed on his knees and burying his head in his neck. "So basically you want to miss out on having awesome welcome-back sex and then not see each other for a whole day when we could be making up for lost time by having even more awesome sex? As if."

"Did you just say as if?"

"I did."

"You sound like a teenage girl."

"Next thing you know, I'm gonna start saying  _totes_."

"I'll chop your dick off since you're clearly not interested in acting like you have one."

"See, that wouldn't be so bad if you were the one fucking me, but you aren't and. . .what would you be putting in your ass?"

"Dildos," Mickey deadpans.

"Hmm," Ian hummed in agreement, pressing his nose to the spot behind Mickey's ear and sliding his hand down into Mickey's boxers. "And what would you put in your mouth?"

Mickey lets out a choked sound as Ian's fingers close around his cock. "Your fingers," he stutters.

Ian moans. "Fuck," he said, "we should do that one day."

Mickey grins breathlessly. "No time like the present."

Ian leans back, his eyes dark and his pupils blown completely. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Sucking on my fingers like it's my cock, getting them nice and wet so I can put them in your ass and get you ready for me to fuck you deep and nice and hard, just like you like it?"

Mickey wants to die.

Ian shoves Mickey back down so his back is against the bed and his head is suddenly surrounded by pillows. "I missed you so fucking much," Ian said, his breath ragged and stuttering as he ripped off Mickey's boxers and stripped his own tank top off, throwing it to the floor. "You're not leaving again. Mandy can come here, but you're not leaving. I don't give a fuck what she says."

Mickey wants to bite Ian's bottom lip, to run his hands over his chest and his back and his arms and  _fuck_ , he just wants Ian.

"I'm not leaving again," Mickey promises as he kisses Ian, his teeth finding his lip and tugging.

Ian whimpers, the feel of Mickey biting him bordering on the edge of pleasure and pain, but he didn't care.

Anything with Mickey was pleasurable to him.

Mickey took Ian's cock in his hand and began stroking him, listening to the groans Ian let out. "Fuck, Ian, we're never going more than twelve hours without sex again, I swear."

Ian grunted as he thrust into Mickey's hand. "Twelve? We can barely last six without sending each other a picture of our dicks."

"Well, you aren't complaining," Mickey teased cockily as he let go of Ian and grabbed the lube from the dresser. "Or was I just imagining the phone call I got from you after I sent you one?"

Ian shook his head as his fingers entered Mickey. "Wet dream," he explained. "You can't go too long without me."

"Oh, was that what happened?"

Ian nodded. "You're just so desperate for it," he continued. "You're so desperate that you even dream about me being as desperate as you are for sex." He took his fingers out and slid inside Mickey with a long, drawn-out moan.

And Mickey knows that he and Ian aren't going six hours without sex for the next week.

**Tuesday, August 11, 2015**

"I think I'm in love."

"Oh, do you, really?"

Mickey looks up from the magazine he's reading at Ian's kitchen table to look at the redhead with an annoyed expression, his fingers drumming against the tabletop irritably.

Ian smiles and nods. "Yep," he says cheerfully. "I'm like, so in love that it hurts sometimes. But it's a good kind of hurt. The kind where you know that it's only hurting because your heart is almost bursting from how full of love it is all because of one person."

Mickey is frozen to his seat.

Who comes up with stuff like that?

He can barely speak with proper grammar, and here Ian fucking Gallagher was, turning into fucking Shakespeare.

It was maddening and irritating and he wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face.

But fuck, did he want to kiss him, too.

He settled for the kissing.

"You're one cheesy motherfucker, you know that, right?" he said fondly, gripping Ian's hair fiercely.

Ian shrugged nonchalantly. "I never got to give you your welcome home dinner date thing. I promised romanticism, cheesiness, and good food. So I decided, since the opportunity to put it all in one night hasn't arisen yet since you've come back, I might as well spread it all out."

Mickey can't help but feel a bit guilty. Clearly Ian had put a fuckload of thought into that dinner.

"I'm sorry," he says before he can help himself.

Ian puts his hand on the side of Mickey's neck. "Don't be sorry," he said, shrugging it off casually. "I'm happy you're home, even though I didn't get to give you some big welcome home dinner."

Mickey grinned. "You did give me pretty good welcome home sex, though."

" _Pretty_  good?" Ian repeated, sounding insulted.

"Wonderful. Mind-blowing. Delightful." He paused and thought a little more. " _Orgasmic_."

"You bet your ass it was orgasmic."

Mickey rolled his eyes but he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

**Monday, August 17, 2015**

"How's Ian?" Mandy asked, drawing out Ian's name in an annoyingly girlish way.

"Fuck off."

"That good, huh?"

Mickey grinned at her through the computer. "Fucking amazing."

Mandy smiled back at him, but it was guarded. "Just. . .be careful, okay?" she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

Mickey crinkled his eyebrows. "What do you mean, be careful?"

Mandy shrugged. "Just. . .you know. Dad's getting out of jail soon. You don't want him to walk in on you and Ian fucking in the middle of your apartment unless you have a death wish."

Mickey didn't respond. He'd been doing a very good job at not thinking about his father being released from jail in two weeks.

"I'll talk to you later, okay, Mandy?" he said.

Mandy sighed. "Mick, come on. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

Mickey shook his head. "No, it's not your fault," he said, and it  _wasn't_  Mandy's fault. It was his own fault for being too scared of his own father. And it was because of that, because of his fear, that he knew Ian would never be able to be truly happy with him, no matter how often he said he loved Mickey. Mickey didn't deserve Ian because he was too  _good_  and Mickey wasn't even brave enough to come out to his father.

**Wednesday, September 2, 2015**

"I've gotta be somewhere," Mickey said as he shrugged his jacket on. September may have just started but winter was just too damn eager to come rolling in to Chicago. He was always a fan of winter, but not this early on. August had just ended, for Christ's sake!

"Where are you going?" Ian asked, rolling over onto his side so he could see Mickey getting dressed. It was noon and Mickey had just stormed in through the door and kissed Ian roughly, already tearing his clothes off, and now he was already leaving not even five minutes after.

"Gotta go pick up my dad from jail," Mickey said in a monotone.

"Oh," Ian says, and he doesn't speak after that. Mickey knows that Ian doesn't like to hear anything that has to do with Mickey's father. The story of how Terry Milkovich had found out that his son was gay, and what he had done afterward had a long lasting effect on Mickey—and his mental state for a long time—but when Ian had heard the story. . .it nearly destroyed him to hear what had been to the boy who he loved so much. Mickey knew Ian didn't understood why he continued to put up with his dad, but that was only because Ian didn't get him, not in the way he wanted to.

Mickey brushes his hand across the side of Ian's face, running his hand through his hair. "Hey," he said softly. "I'll be right back as soon as I drop him off at the house. Promise. It won't take me more than an hour, right?" He dropped a kiss on Ian's cheek, and then another one on his lips. He pretended not to notice when Ian's fingers curled around his shirt and pulled him closer, a silent plea to stay. He just walked out the door.

. . .

"Welcome home, Dad," Mickey said as he watched his dad walk down the steps of the jail, muttering angrily the entire time.

"Fuckers don't know not to mess with a fucking Milkovich in prison," Terry said as he slammed the car door shut.

Mickey rolled his eyes as he drove back to the house he remembered growing up. He didn't miss it at all. Terry didn't stop talking the whole time, complaining about the guards and the other inmates and about stupid fucking people in general.

Mickey was itching for him to get out of the car, to get him out before he ingrained himself in his car seats. Mickey didn't want to go back into the car tomorrow and smell Terry Milkovich on his seats. He didn't want to remember that this day had even happened. So when Mickey pulled up to the house and Terry was opening the door, he allowed himself to breathe in relief.

"Are you not coming inside?" he asked.

"Nah. Gotta get back home."

Terry eyed him suspiciously. Every time he had been released from jail, Mickey and his two brothers always sat down on the couch with him and shared a beer together to celebrate.

Not tonight.

"Come by tomorrow. Got a few new names I need you to look out for for me."

Mickey, who was already turning the keys in the ignition to start driving again, paused. "What?" he said.

"Gotta keep the business going, right?"

Mickey scoffed. "You're out now," he reminded his dad as he got out of the car. "I don't wanna get all mixed up in that shit again. Not gonna get caught for doing your dirty work." Before Terry could jump back in the car and hit him, or worse, Mickey stomped on the gas and drove away.

. . .

When Ian opened the door fifteen minutes later, he was met with a destroyed Mickey.

"Mickey?" he asked as he walked right past him into the apartment.

No answer.

"Mickey!" Ian called out, grabbing his wrist and turning him to face him.

"Fuck, Ian, what?"

"What's wrong?"

Mickey didn't answer, looking around the apartment he had become so familiar with over the past few months. "I. . .fuck."

He took Ian by the back of his neck and kissed him instead of talking.

Mickey did this often. Whenever he didn't know how to handle certain emotions, whenever he couldn't fathom his own thoughts and couldn't form coherent words, he put it all into kissing Ian. Because there was no other thing he had ever done that made him feel safer than kissing Ian. The way his arms wrapped around his waist automatically, how he sighed his name against Mickey's lips and gripped the back of his hair so he could pull it hard, just the way he knew Mickey liked it and, sometimes, craved it. Mickey felt comforted by Ian even when they didn't say a word, either of them. He knew that some people would call it unhealthy, and unstable, but it was exactly the opposite.  _This_ , the fucking, the sex and the kissing and the touching they craved so hard and took part in so often, was their way of communication. It was how they proved their love to one another because even though they said it multiple times a day (probably more often than most people do in a day, but they needed the reassurance) words had been used against them for too long, for their  _whole lives_  for them to simply  _believe_ it whenever someone threw those three words around like it was no big deal. And that was why Ian and Mickey worked so well together. Because, to them. . .it wasn't just a big deal. It was the biggest deal.

Afterwards, when Mickey was laying across Ian's chest and tracing random patterns with his fingernail and causing Ian to shiver, he whispered against his skin.

And then, with Ian digging his fingers through Mickey's back as he used his other hand to hitch Mickey's leg higher up his waist as he straddled him, he said it back.

**Wednesday, September 9, 2015**

"Hey, Ian?"

Ian looked up from his cereal and turned his head to look at Mickey over his shoulder, where he was standing by the kitchen counter in his apartment, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Yeah?"

Mickey fiddled with the edge of his t-shirt, clearing his throat loudly and ducking his head so he was avoiding Ian's eyes. "Does, um. . .does your family. . .y'know, do they like me?"

Ian laughed out loud. Three months into actually dating Mickey, and he had been quick to realize that Mickey needed constant reassurance that he was good enough. It was one thing to ask it from him, about whether he loved him no matter what, or if he was doing everything right in bed whenever they tried something new, but to ask about his  _family_?

He stood up and kissed the back of Mickey's neck, making him blush bright red. "My family doesn't really like anyone."

That didn't do much for Mickey. "Fuck," he whispered.

"But I don't really care," Ian continued as if Mickey hadn't spoken.

"Why not?"

"Because my family will hide their dislike for someone if they see I'm truly happy."

Mickey blushed even brighter. "So they don't like me," he said quietly, and it wasn't even a question. It was an answer to a question he had been asking himself for weeks, and now that he finally had the answer, he felt no better than he did in the beginning.

"I love you," Ian said as he inched his hand further down to Mickey's waistband.

"I love you," Mickey repeated as he tipped his head back down against Ian's shoulder.

Ian cupped Mickey's cock underneath his boxers and grinned at the low moan Mickey let out at the feeling. "Promise?" he teased, pressing a kiss to the side of Mickey's neck.

Mickey breathed in deeply. "I swear," he said seriously.

**Thursday, September 17, 2015**

"Mickey?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about pets?"

"No."

"You never wanted a cat?"

"Cats make me sneeze."

"What about a dog?"

"Dogs are fucking attention whores. They always need it. Kind of like you."

"What if we got a pet?"

"We'd have to trade it off like we're a fucking divorced couple if it belonged to both of us."

"What if we moved in together?"

"I'll think about it."

**Monday, September 21, 2015**

Mickey moved the last of his stuff into Ian's dresser. "There. It's finished. We're not moving ever again, that was hell."

Ian grinned as he watched Mickey from his spot on his bed where he was laying. "I don't know. Watching you do all that heavy lifting. . ."

"You could have helped, you giant freak."

"And miss out on the chance to watch you, the ever-perfect, I-can-do-no-wrong Mickey Milkovich struggle with something?"

"I hate you," Mickey sighed, bending his back.

Ian hummed lowly, sitting up on his knees and crawling to the edge of the bed. "Come here," he said in a soft voice, and Mickey swore it sounded like a purr. "I'll make you feel better."

Mickey broke apart under Ian's hands as he took him in his mouth, kissed him languidly and slowly, and fucked him nice and slow. Hearing the sounds coming out of Ian's mouth were an erotic and other-worldly experience in itself.

By the time they finished, Mickey felt utterly boneless. "We'll move every fucking day if that's what I get out of it."

Ian laughed, his breathing still a little heavy and uneven. "Please. Next time you're doing all the work."

Mickey doesn't really care as long as he gets to continue spending time with Ian.

**Saturday, October 3, 2015**

Mickey doesn't like Fiona Gallagher very much, but she's Ian's sister, so he feels obligated to at least put up with her.

Besides, Ian had already confirmed that both Fiona and Lip didn't like him very much, but they hadn't threatened his life or anything yet, so he guessed they were tolerating him, too.

Barely tolerating him, but it was still toleration on some kind of level.

"Potatoes, Mickey?" Fiona asked, holding up the bowl of chopped up pieces of potatoes in front of him. She was sitting across from him at the table and there was really no reason for her to ask because if he wanted the potatoes, he could have reached it just fine, but. . .toleration.

So even though Mickey really didn't feel like having any potatoes, he accepted the bowl and said thanks politely.

"So," Lip started off, and Mickey already wanted to punch him. "How's living with Ian?"

Despite his irritation with the oldest Gallagher boy, Mickey smiled. "It's nice," he said.

Ian gave him a smile from across the table and looked down at his own food.

"Just. . .nice?" Lip asked suspiciously, eyeing Mickey.

Ian rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Lip," he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, it's fucking nice," Mickey said, his tone a bit sharper than he'd intended but  _fuck_ , who did he think he was, talking to him like that? Especially in front of Ian?"

"That sounds. . .very unemotional for someone who just moved in with their boyfriend," Lip continued, looking for Mickey's sore spots.

"Sorry I'm not crying from joy," Mickey sneered, his voice shaking a little with the effort it took not to snap at him.

"Lip," Fiona warned, giving her brother a dirty look.

"I think it's great that you and Mickey moved in together," Debbie piped up. "He's been talking about you for so long."

Ian blushed but Mickey grinned. "Has he?" he asked, his interest piqued.

"Mm-hmm," Debbie confirmed. "He was even talking about adoption."

"Debbie!" Fiona gasped.

Ian let out a choked noise and Mickey froze.

"He was doing what, now?" Mickey said hoarsely. He didn't look at Ian; he  _couldn't_  look at Ian. It had been four months. Four months! When had he even had the time to talk about adoption.

"Oh, don't worry, Debbs," Lip said, giving Mickey another look, "he had talked about that back in April, when he and Mickey hadn't even been dating yet. Said he was sick of being alone, remember, Ian? And Fiona told you that if you wanted a kid, you'd have to break off whatever it was that you had with him."

Mickey stood up from the table and walked out.

. . .

He was shaking. He was fucking  _shaking_ and he couldn't even get his hands to work so he could pull out another cigarette from his pack. Fuck Lip Gallagher for being a pretentious asshole and for having that stupid fucking nickname and fuck Ian Gallagher for wanting kids and not telling him about it and fuck Fiona Gallagher for trying to pretend she was okay with Mickey being with her brother when she had tried to convince him to break off their relationship months ago and fuck all the Gallaghers.

"Where the  _fuck_  have you been?"

Mickey turned around and found Ian standing there, face red and breathing heavily.

He looked exactly like that while they were having sex, Mickey thought silently. Cheeks flushed (Normally it was from arousal, but now it was from the cold), hair mussed up (Normally it was from Mickey's fingers, but now it was from the wind), and looking pissed (Normally it was from Mickey's teasing, but now it was from Mickey leaving).

"Been here," Mickey said, shrugging.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Ian says exasperatedly. "I spent half an hour looking for you and you were standing in front of you old apartment building?"

Another shrug. "Had nowhere else to go."

"You could have stayed."

Mickey laughed out loud. An honest-to-God  _laugh_. As if the thought of staying with the Gallaghers for dinner just killed him. "Yeah fucking right."

"Mickey. . ."

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted kids?"

"Because we were just fucking at the time."

"And you never thought to tell me after we stopped  _just_  fucking?"

"There was never a time. . ."

"Bull _shit_ there was never a right time! We've been dating four fucking months, Ian. And you're gonna fucking tell me there wasn't ever a right time? We live together for fuck's sake!"

"Mick, listen to me—"

"Why should I?"

"I. . .Because I love you."

"Your sister told you to break it off with me."

"Yes."

"Is that why you told me you didn't want to sleep with me anymore back in April?" Mickey asked. "Why I had to fucking beg you not to leave? Because let me tell you, I had already been falling in love you for a long time before that."

"Mick. . ."

"Stop fucking saying my name like that!"

A car horn beeped at them as it drove by and someone stuck their middle finger out the window. "Knock it the fuck down a few notches!" someone yelled as they drove by.

Mickey flipped him off and turned back to Ian. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Ian shrugged, not answering.

"Is that a no?"

Another shrug.

Mickey snorted and turned around to walk away. Ian ran after him and caught him by the wrist, forcing him to turn back to face him. He shoved Mickey's back against the brick wall of the apartment building. "Come home," he said quietly.

Mickey tried to shove Ian back. "Get the fuck off me, Ian," Mickey said.

"Come on, Mickey. Come home with me."

"Ian, get your hands the  _fuck_  off me before I hit you."

Ian kissed Mickey hard on the mouth, taking his neck in both hands and bruising his lips with his own. Mickey let out a sad sort of whimper against his mouth and kissed him back.

"Fuck you, Ian," Mickey hissed in Ian's ear as Ian moved down to his jaw and sucked a mark there.

"Mickey, come  _home_."

"No."

"I'll yell at Lip for three hours if it makes you feel better."

"You never told me about any of this shit," Mickey gasped as Ian cupped him through his jeans.

"I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything when we go home."

"I'm not going home tonight."

Ian froze. He brought his hand back from Mickey's jeans and stuffed both of them in his pockets, staring Mickey down as he tried to see if he was really being serious about this.

"Are you serious?"

"I can't come home tonight," Mickey whispered.

"Mickey, please—"

"I'll see you around, Ian," Mickey told him as he shoved himself back from the wall and walked down the street.

. . .

"Welcome home, Mickey."

"Shut up, Iggy."

"Jesus, is that how you say hello to your brother?"

" _Yes_ ," Mickey hissed as he went straight to the kitchen and pulled out a beer.

Terry looked up from his newspaper. "Home, are you?" he grunted.

Mickey shrugged. "For the night," he said as he sat down at the table.

"You've go the couch," he told him and went back to his newspaper.

Mickey didn't even nod to show he had heard his father.

He just continued drinking his beer and when he finished, he threw the bottle in the trash.

Later that night, as Mickey lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling, he wondered if Ian was still awake and if he was thinking about him.

**Sunday, October 4, 2015**

Mickey opens the door to Ian's apartment at five in the morning with the key Ian got him after he had moved in with him.

Normally, he got a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever he took the key out.

Now?

Now, he just felt guilty.

Mickey went to the bedroom he shared with Ian, because  _dammit_  this was his apartment, too, and saw Ian sleeping on his back. He smiled softly and made his way to the bed, standing on his knees on the bed.

He ran his hand through Ian's red hair and pressed a soft kiss to his temple before drawing back the blanket.

Mickey pulled Ian's boxers down his waist, freeing his cock. He took it in his hand and began stroking it, sliding the tip of it in his mouth as he kept his eyes on Ian's face, making sure to see him when he woke up.

"Fuck," Ian grunted from above Mickey.

He was awake and he had a hand in Mickey's hair.

Mickey continued stroking Ian with his mouth and his hand, letting Ian guide him with the hand he had in his hair until Ian came with a small and soft cry. He sank back into the pillows, sighing heavily.

"Mickey," Ian sighed.

"I don't want to leave this apartment ever again," Mickey said.

Ian took Mickey by the waist and hauled him up so he was draped over Ian's chest.

"Don't ever fucking make me spend another night without you. You promised me you wouldn't leave, remember? When you came back from New York."

Mickey kissed the side of Ian's neck. "I love you."

Ian rolled them over so he was straddling Mickey's waist. "Fuck, I love you, too," he said as he ran his hands down Mickey's chest and peppered kisses down his shoulders and waist until he was eye-level with his cock.

He wrapped his hands around it and Mickey groaned, loud and deep, as Ian continued to stroke it. He reached around Mickey's back and inserted two fingers in his ass.

Mickey shoved Ian's hands away from his cock and took it in his own hand, jerking his hand up and down quickly. "Fuck," he whispered. "Gallagher, fuck."

Ian hums as he kisses and bites Mickey's thigh until Mickey comes all over his hand and stomach.

"Fuck," Mickey sighed as Ian crawled back up to Mickey and spread himself out on his chest, ignoring the come and sweat that had pooled there. "Fuck, we aren't ever fighting ever again. I swear."

Ian grins against Mickey's shoulder and kisses the spot. "Never again."

. . .

"Are you ever going to introduce me to the rest of your family?" Ian asks later that day as he lays himself out on the couch in front of the TV and flips through the channels.

Mickey pauses on his way to the living room. "No," he says.

"Why not?"

Mickey snorts and shoves Ian's legs out of the way so he can sit down. "Because they're fucking psychotic. Literally all of them, even Mandy, but she's the only one I actually like."

"Are you really never going to introduce me to them?" Ian asks, turning those fucking puppy dog eyes towards him in that way he knows will make Mickey come undone.

Mickey stares at him. "You've heard the stories," he says softly.

Ian shrugs. "So forget about your dad."

Mickey shakes his head. "No, you don't understand. I tell my brothers about you, and my dad  _will_  find out. He's ambitious like that." The bitterness is obvious to Ian.

Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey and pulled him close, pressing his lips to his collarbone. "Mickey," he sighed, a hint of sadness tainting his voice and making Mickey feel like he was suffocating.

"Goddammit, Gallagher," he said, pushing him back.

He saw Ian's hurt expression and he knew it was wrong of him, but fuck he couldn't help it. Why did he always have to question him like that? Why did Ian always have to make everything seem okay when Mickey knew, better than anyone and everyone, that it sure as fuck wasn't fucking okay?

"Sorry," Ian mutters and goes back to the couch.

Mickey can't bring himself to answer, so he just goes to the bathroom as an excuse to get out of Ian's sight.

. . .

"Mick?"

Mickey looks at the bathroom door with a rather harsh glare and purses his lips, feeling like if he spoke, he'd just start shouting at Ian and he wouldn't ever fucking stop.

"Mickey, someone is here for you."

There's another knock, a much softer one, and then a voice calls out to him and Mickey feels all the stress, all the anger, leave his body.

"Mickey?" Mandy's voice calls out to him.

Mickey wrenches the door open and pulls his sister to him by her shoulder, yanking her in for a tight hug.

When Mickey finally lets her go, Ian is still leaning against the doorjamb and as Mandy goes to the kitchen for a beer, Mickey shoves him against the wall and kisses him hard.

"I fucking love you," he whispers as he looks at Ian's lips instead of his eyes because he fucking knows what he'll see there if he looks up. He knows he'll see Ian's warm look loving him more than he deserves. "I. . .I fucking love you, okay?"

Ian subconsciously licks his bottom lip and nods, and Mickey gives him one more fierce, quick kiss, a hard bruising of two lips meeting together in a rough war, before going to see his sister.

"Mick," Mandy says exasperatedly as she turns to face him with her beer in her hand.

"What brings you here, Mandy?" Mickey asks as he takes his own beer.

"Mickey, it's Terry."

Mickey immediately stops moving, his muscles seizing up. "What happened?" he asks lowly.

Mandy bites her lip, the words getting caught in her throat.

"He knows about Ian."

**Tuesday, October 13, 2015**

Mickey's never known a fear like this. He's felt afraid for his own life and he's been scared about his father finding about his sexuality for as long as he can remember, but this. . .he had never been so scared for someone else. He had never felt the all-consuming fear that comes with loving someone as much as he loved Ian fucking Gallagher. Because he knows that when Terry finds out where Ian lives, where  _Mickey_  lives, he's not gonna leave Ian out of this. He's going to drag him in deep and he's never going to let go. Because Terry Milkovich doesn't do things halfway; he goes all in. And half of this equation is Mickey. The other is Ian. Mickey knows that Terry won't stop until both of them are sorted out, until they're both bleeding and hurting. . .until he's succeeded in his own twisted and fucked up way of  _straightening people out_. He knows that he's going to really kill him this time. The prostitute was a knife to the side. What he's going to do if he finds Mickey and Ian will be a knife to the heart.

Mickey stares up at the ceiling of the dark room, replaying the moment of Terry finding him with another boy over and over in his head.

"Mickey," Ian says softly, kissing the back of his shoulder. "Stop thinking about it."

Ian knows. He knows that Mickey can't stop thinking about the moment Terry called in the prostitute and ordered her to fuck the faggot out of him.

It kills him.

"Mick," Ian repeats.

"Jesus  _fuck_ , Ian," Mickey says hoarsely, flinching away from Ian's hand on his shoulder.

"You know they didn't mean to do it, right?"

Mickey shrugs but doesn't respond.

Yes, his brothers had known about Ian. Yes, Mickey had been fucking stupid enough to say something when they asked why he had shown up at their door and slept on the couch.

Yes, they had been fucking stupid enough to say something about it to Terry.

Mickey didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew that he wanted to kick their asses.

"Well," Mickey grunted as he flipped onto his back, "you're finally gonna get to meet my family."

**Sunday, October 18, 2015**

The knocking starts at seven in the morning. Then it stops. And exactly seventeen minutes later, the pounding starts. Mickey took his eyes off the clock and walked to the door, baseball bat in hand, and looked out the peephole.

"Ian," Mickey said, fear creeping in his voice, "please, for the love of God, call the motherfucking police."

Ian has no choice but to listen to him. And Mickey is glad that Ian chooses to listen to him, because he'd rather Ian not be in Terry's line of vision when he opens the door.

His hand twists the doorknob and he opens it slowly.

He's met with a punch to the face.

"Fucking faggot!"

Mickey falls to the ground and he clutches his nose, eyes widening as he sees Terry running through the door.

"No fucking son of mine is going to be a fucking fairy!" Terry shouts as he falls on top of Mickey and lands another punch to his face.

Mickey grunts and shoves the side of his head, pushing him away from him.

There's footsteps pounding closer as Terry tries to get his fingers around Mickey's throat to choke him and Mickey forces his head to the side, turning his face to the floor forcefully.

"Fuck."

Mickey makes the mistake of looking up and manages to see Ian before he's knocked over and he sees nothing but black for a second or two.

Terry shoves Mickey out of the way and rushes Ian, knocking him over into the table and hitting him square in the jaw.

"Faggots, both of you!" Terry spits as he punches Ian repeatedly. Mickey stumbles over his own feet as he stands up because  _damn_  it's been a long time since he's been in a fight and he knows part of it is because Ian makes him a better person but fuck if he isn't itching to rip his own fucking father's head off.

He takes hold of his hair and pulls him off of Ian only to be flipped over. He feels the edge of the table digging into his back and his head knocks back against the wood and he knows he'll probably end up with a concussion before the cops come.

His dad always was a fan of hitting the head.

Weakest spot, he always said.

Ian takes one of the beer bottles laying on the table and breaks it across the back of Terry's head, the glass cutting his own hand in the process. He hisses in pain but ignores the blood seeping from his palm as he grips his shoulders, trying to get him off Mickey.

Mickey flings his hand out behind him, trying to feel for anything that will protect him, anything he can use as a weapon, but there's nothing there that he can reach and he has the strangest feeling that he might die today.

And then, as quick as it started, it's over.

Strong arms take Terry off him, and Mickey feels like he can breathe again.

Someone bandages Ian's hand as Terry is put in handcuffs.

Mickey answers questions without even really listening to what the cop is saying to him.

And when Terry is gone, Mickey just drops to the floor and tries to pick up the glass from the floor that had broken off the bottle Ian had thrown.

"Mickey?"

No. No. Mickey can't look at Ian right now. He can't look at the soft and concerned expression he knows will be set on Ian's face even though he was hurt, too. Mickey can feel the bruises he'll have in a few tomorrow, feel the blood running down the side of his face from Terry's punches, but he ignores it all.

When Ian tries to touch Mickey's shoulder, Mickey jerks back as if he had been burned by his hand and loses the balance he'd had while he'd been sitting on his haunches. He falls to the floor, his legs collapsing underneath him, and that's just it.

He starts to breathe heavily and it keeps getting caught in his throat because he can't fucking breathe right for some reason, and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block out what he knows is coming, but he fucking  _can't_.

This time, when Ian joins him on the floor and tries to touch him, Mickey lets him. He brings Mickey to his chest and lets him do what he hasn't done since his mom died.

Mickey cries.

**Friday, November 5, 2015**

"Your bruises are finally gone and your cuts are gonna leave a little scar, but you're gonna be fine."

"Thanks," Mickey mutters, leaning away from Fiona as she finishes putting the bandages back on his temple.

Ian smiles softly at him from his spot where he's leaning against the kitchen counter and reaches out to him.

Mickey doesn't even hesitate as he walks over to Ian, letting him embrace him. He feels his lips quirk up when Ian presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"Ian, do you want me to check you out, too?" Fiona asked, ruining their moment.

Ian shakes his head. "Nah. It's just my hand."

"You sure? You told me you got hit pretty hard."

"I'm good," Ian reassures her again.

Fiona accepts his answer and walked upstairs to the bathroom to put the first aid supplies back in the medicine cabinet. Mickey held on tighter to Ian, sighing into his shirt as he tightens his hold.

"You okay?" Ian asks.

"Never better," Mickey mumbles into the fabric.

Ian smiles, putting his chin on top of Mickey's head.

"Wanna go visit Mandy?" he asked, and brightened up when Mickey nodded eagerly, reminding him of a little kid who was offered his favorite toy after being sad for a few days. His nod was soft and his eyes were downcast, and Ian had never loved Mickey Milkovich more than he did in that second.

They drove to the hotel Mandy had been staying at for the past few weeks, ever since Terry's arrest, and knocked on her door.

She opened it with a big grin.

"Why do you look so happy?" Mickey asked as he walked inside.

"Good day," Mandy said. "I'm going home soon."

Mickey threw her a dirty look. "Thanks, bitch," he said as he plopped down on her bed, crossing his ankles and putting his hands behind his head.

Mandy smiled even wider at him. "Shut up, Mick. I don't mean it like that. I'm just gonna be happy to be home again."

Ian hummed as he sat down in one of the two chairs set up by the table against the large window. "So, who is he?"

Mandy blanched and Mickey shot up.

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Mickey asked, already going into protective older brother mode.

Mandy scoffed unconvincingly. "Please, shut the fuck up, Ian. I'm not seeing anyone," she said, rolling her eyes.

Ian nodded dramatically. "That's exactly what someone who's seeing someone special would say."

She flipped him off and threw a stray balled up napkin at his face. She missed by an inch and it hit the window.

Mickey waits for her to speak but she doesn't, just continues shifting on her feet, looking down at the floor and avoiding both of their eyes. And then Mickey knows he's fucked.

"Who the fuck is he?" Mickey asks.

"Someone I work with," Mandy answers immediately.

Ian snorts at how quickly she answered her brother but ignored him.

"I want his name and his address," Mickey says, already standing up as if he was going to walk his way to New York City and beat the shit out of the guy his sister was interested in.

"Oh, what the fuck are you gonna do, Mick?" Mandy asked exasperatedly. "Are you gonna hitchhike your way there and beat him up?"

Mickey gave her a look that clearly said he thought she was an idiot. "Yes," he said as if it was obvious.

Ian laughed. "No, you're not," he said.

Mickey raised his eyebrows and turned on his boyfriend. "Excuse the fuck out of me, what the fuck did you just say?" he asked.

Ian rolled his eyes. "You're gonna let Mandy have this boy she's interested in, and you aren't gonna say shit because you love her and want her to be happy."

Mickey flipped him off and turned back to Mandy, who was grinning at Ian so big he could have sworn she would either pull a muscle or break her face in half. But he let it go and sat back down on the bed.

"I just want to know his name," he said.

Mandy cocked her head to the side. "Jake," she said finally after a few moments of silence.

"Jesus fuck, Mandy, you're gonna date someone named  _Jake_?" he said in a disgusted voice.

Mandy rolled her eyes. "See, this is why I don't say anything to you about this shit!"

But both Mickey and Mandy knew that both of them were kidding.

"I have to pee," she announced, and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Ian hopped onto the bed with Mickey, resting his head on his shoulder. "You're really protective of her, aren't you?" he said into his shirt.

Mickey nodded. "Yep," he agreed.

"It's cute."

"Fuck off."

Ian tipped his chin towards him and leaned up to close the distance between them so he could kiss Mickey on the lips softly. He traced the bandages Mickey had on his face and let his hand drop to his shoulder as Mickey scooted farther down the bed to kiss him at a better angle.

"Jesus Christ, I was gone ten fucking seconds!"

Mickey and Ian jumped apart as Mandy stormed back away from them, heading to the mini fridge and yanking out a bottle of beer, opening it and taking an angry sip from it.

"You can have your boy toy and I can't have mine?" Ian asked, teasing Mickey more than Mandy.

Mickey responded with an elbow to Ian's ribs. "Shut the fuck up, Ian."

"I mean, you kinda are. Especially when my dick is in you as—"

"Both of you need to shut the fuck up!" Mandy shouted, covering her ears and wrinkling her nose in distaste and barely veiled disgust.

When Mickey and Ian parted ways with Mandy ten minutes later, Mickey hugged her especially tight and told her to remember what he had said to her when he visited her in New York so many months ago.

**Monday, November 9, 2015**

"I've gotta find a new job," Ian sighed as he threw the golden shorts on the couch in disgust.

"Tend bar," Mickey said without hesitation and without looking up from his magazine.

"Think Kev would let me get a job at the Alibi?" Ian asked, joining Mickey on the couch.

Mickey shrugged. "Don't see why not. You've been going there since you were like, ten."

"Eleven," Ian corrected with a grin. Mickey rolled his eyes in a way that said loud and clear that he really didn't care what age Ian had managed to sneak into a bar, especially when it was probably his father who had taken him there in the first place.

Mickey stood up from the couch and went to the kitchen, spotting a familiar orange bottle sitting on the counter, the white cap laying next to it.

"Hey, Ian," Mickey called out.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have to like, change your pills ever few months or something?" he asked, treading carefully on the subject of Ian's bipolarity. It wasn't that Ian wasn't comfortable talking about it (He was comfortable about everything when it came to Mickey) but he hated the fact that it could open a conversation about who had passed the bipolar gene down to him.

Ian appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, looking at the pills he'd taken right when he came home from work. "Only if something goes wrong with the ones I got," he explained.

"How do you know if something goes wrong?" Mickey asked.

Ian shrugged, taking the bottle of pills and turning it around and around absentmindedly in his hand. "Depression, anxiety. . .you know, the sudden mood changes." He smiled at Mickey. "But I've been happy for the past few months, so I wouldn't worry about it."

Mickey grinned right back at Ian and took the pills from him to set on the counter right before he attacked him with a hard kiss to the lips.

**Wednesday, November 18, 2015**

"Do you ever think about adoption any more?" Mickey asked into the dark, his breath still coming out a bit unevenly after his bout of sex with Ian.

Ian turned to face him, his own chest rising and falling more rapidly than normal. "Sometimes," he admitted carefully.

Mickey turned back to the ceiling. "Do you ever think about talking about it with me?" he asked hesitantly.

Ian threw his leg over Mickey's. "Are you asking me if I want to talk about adoption with you?" he asked.

Mickey shrugged. "No," he said truthfully. "At least. . .not now. Maybe later, a long while down the road," he said.

Ian grinned and kissed Mickey on the lips before turning over to go to sleep.

Mickey hoped there was a long road ahead for the both of them.

**Thursday, November 26, 2015**

"Pass the mashed potatoes, Ian," Mickey said.

Ian gave Mickey the bowl, warning him that it was still hot on the bottom. He spooned some green beans onto his already full plate before setting that bowl back onto the table.

Mickey's family had never been one for Thanksgiving. Ian, on the other hand, had many Thanksgiving memories, and had announced that he was determined to show Mickey a good Thanksgiving after Mickey had admitted he had never had a proper dinner on the day.

"How is it?" Ian asked hours later as he and Mickey sat on the couch, drinking fro their beer cans and not even paying attention to the football game they had put on after dinner.

Mickey grinned. "It was great," he said.

"Really?"

"Swear it was the best dinner I ever had," Mickey said.

"Good. Because Fiona gave me hell for not coming over for Thanksgiving this year, and it would have been pretty fucking pointless if it had sucked."

Mickey laughed and kissed Ian on the cheek, shocking him. "Don't worry, it was pretty fucking amazing," he reassured him.

Later that night, when they were laying in bed together, Mickey moved closer to Ian and told him his stomach was hurting.

"It's from all the food you ate," Ian whispered, voice hoarse as he tried to fall asleep.

"Ian," Mickey complained in his ear.

"The fuck you want me to do about it, Mickey?" Ian asked, but he didn't have any venom in his voice despite the harsh words. He sounded amused.

"Make me feel better," Mickey said, his hand reaching around Ian's back to his front, lifting the hem of his boxers.

Ian groaned. "Mickey, come on. . ."

It was a fight they both knew Ian had already lost.

"Fuck, Mick," Ian said and turned around so he was facing Mickey. "Come the fuck on, you really wanna do this now."

Mickey shrugged, smiling cheekily as he cupped Ian through his boxers. "Seems like we both do, Firecrotch."

The old nickname brought a smile to Ian's lips and made him kiss him on the lips.

Mickey was quick to take advantage of it and invaded his tongue into Ian's mouth, moaning especially loud for Ian's benefit.

He knew how the sounds that left Mickey's mouth drew Ian crazy.

Afterwards, Mickey did what he hadn't done in a long time and picked up his cigarette pack from the dresser next to his side of the bed—They had  _sides_ , fuck, and it made Mickey feel strangely warm inside—and lit one up.

"Want a drag?" he asked, offering it to Ian.

Ian accepted it and puffed out some smoke.

"We should quit," he said.

"I know," Mickey agreed as he took the cigarette back between his lips.

"Do you think we could do it?" Ian asked, watching the smoke leave Mickey's mouth in the darkness of the room.

Mickey shrugged. "Maybe. If we tried."

. . .

The next day, when Ian ran up the eight flights of stairs it took to get to his floor of the apartment, he burst through the door and found Mickey sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette in his mouth and a cup of coffee in front of him.

He went over to him, breathing heavily and his heart racing, and ripped the cigarette out of his mouth, taking one good drag before offering it back to Mickey.

"We're quitting smoking," he said.

Mickey raised his eyebrows but didn't argue.

He just took his final drag of his cigarette and dropped it into the cup of coffee he had in front of him.

**Wednesday, December 2, 2015**

"I want to adopt."

"What did you just say?"

"I want to adopt."

"Seriously."

"I want to adopt."

"You said that already."

"I want to adopt with you."

"That's great."

"We'll go do some research about it tomorrow."

"Whatever works for you, Mick."

**Monday, December 7, 2015**

When Fiona heard that Mickey and Ian were planning on adopting, she was a lot more supportive than the first time she'd heard it.

"Just don't tell Lip yet," she advised.

"Don't you fucking worry," Mickey said. He'd been able to warm up to her a lot more ever since Terry had come by for a visit and Fiona had helped patch him up. "I won't be talking to him any time soon."

He was secretly glad when Ian didn't reprimand him.

"So. . .you're really gonna do this?" Fiona asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Yep."

"What about your job?"

"Quitting. Got an interview coming up for a regular old office job."

"Office jobs can get boring."

"And I need boring for a little bit," Ian said, his voice turning serious.

Fiona smiled a little sadly and put her hand on Ian's shoulder.

"You deserve it," she said.

Mickey felt like he was invading a private moment, but then Fiona turned to him, breathing in deeply.

"I guess I was wrong about you," she sighed. "You're good for my brother."

Mickey didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all.

"Just keep being good for him, and keep being good to him."

"Don't worry," Mickey said seriously. "I will be."

**Thursday, December 17, 2015**

"What if we don't buy presents for Christmas?"

"Is this your way of telling me you're broke, Gallagher?"

"No. While I  _am_  broke, I have a better idea."

"What's that?"

"Sex."

". . .I'm listening."

"We'll have a game of who can come up with the cleverest 'sex gift' they can."

"What does the winner get?"

Ian laughed. "Oh, Mickey," he sighed, "I think by the end of the night, we'll agree that we're both winners."

**Friday, December 25, 2015**

"Do you ever think of what we were before?" Ian asked.

Mickey shrugged, already knowing what Ian was talking about. "Sometimes," he admits. "But then. . .I think of what we are now, what he  _have_  now, and I realize it's not worth thinking about."

"Not worth it?"

Mickey rethinks his statement. "Wrong words," he says. "I just think that. . .I fucked up a lot while we were just fucking. I fell for you. . .so hard. And I was so convinced that you didn't want anything real with me because you were the one who started the whole thing in the first place, but. . .it got to be too much and I just said the words one night."

"I fucking love you," Ian says.

Mickey doesn't know if he's repeating Mickey's words from that night or if he's just saying them because he wants to.

Either way, he doesn't mind.

"I just realized that. . .well, all that stuff shouldn't matter. Because what we have now is so much better and yeah, we had a lot of fun while we were just fucking, but. . .this, being able to go to bed with you and just sleep instead having sex, feels a lot better than I thought it would."

Ian thinks it's a weird way for Mickey to say he likes being in a relationship with him, but he'll take it.

He'll take everything Mickey gives him.

"So," he says after a few minutes of silence. "When are we going to contact those adoption agencies we found the other day?"

Mickey threw his leg over Ian's waist, smiling in the dark. "Whenever the fuck you want," he said. "We've got all the time in the world."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like this as much as you liked Staccato Heartbeat, and leave a kudos or (my personal favorite) a comment.
> 
> Once again, shoutout to Halsey for helping me power through this in (once again, surprise, surprise) two days! Also, Lana del Rey and Lorde, and a bunch of Israeli music (Dudu Aharon, Peer Tasi, and Kobi Peretz probably own my soul). And a huge bigass thank you to all of you who asked for a sequel and helped me write this. I wouldn't have been able to do it without your support, interest, and love for this series. I love you guys :)


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